Thursday, February 18, 2010

You can't always.....wear your favorite shirt

In our household, I am responsible for getting the laundry done. As a student, bartender, and now marathon trainee, each week is fairly regimented. Wednesday evening is usually dedicated to homework, American Idol and providing those I love with clean clothes. My regime dictates that the laundry gets done, not some half-assed attempt with clean clothes left in the dryer for days (or worse, the washer). But yesterday my schedule got highjacked and it was impossible to do my chores. Which left me with this:

And not to mention the obstacle course surrounding the front door:

I am not a fashionista. I mean, really. My work "uniform" is pre-ordained, the 'at home' attire consists of sweat pants and t-shirts. Otherwise, its jeans and something very neutral as a shirt to school (I'm 38 trying to blend in with 18 year olds!). However, I feel myself transforming into a running clothes junkie, and it's because I care about you, the public.

I am a people watcher. Not the "I stare at you until my probing eyes have made you completely uncomfortable" type, but the curious observer who enjoys surveying our society stumbling around our planet. I could spend an entire day at Denver International Airport, watching travelers shuffle past me, to my own great delight. Conversely, I do realize that, I too am being watched (no, not like Big Brother), but when I am "out there." If I am on the streets or riding the dreadmill at the gym, I want to look good while I lumber along.

You see, I am a 6ft, 195lb man with a receding hairline and questionable waistline. The visual sight of me plodding along the side of the road could be frightening, especially to small children. At the Denver Marathon last year, Boston Marathon winner Frank Shorter described my type as a "Clydesdale." While I am not entirely self-depreiciating, as close to those beautiful horses I come is the Bud Light regularly enjoy. I figure, since I will never glide over the pavement like Bolt or Legat, the least I could do is attempt to look cool. (I actually think I do look ok running/jogging/troting/galloping?.....I don't have a completely ass-backward running stride that fellow runners are not supposed to laugh at). So my running outfit is an extremely important part of the package.

That's me, in my least favorite shirt.

I have enough cool/good looking running shirts to last 6 runs. Which means that if my laundry regime holds, I don't have to dig at toward the bottom of the drawer for that shirt. Now, I am being harder on that shirt than I really should. It's from last years Lafayette Oatmeal 5k and it is not bad, I just don't wear it very well. I like my colorful Nike and UnderArmour, which apparently supercedes my concern for factory workers in southern Asia., the pithy American I am. But alas I had to get a load of laundry started before I treked out for five miles morning. Time management had backed me into a less than fasionable corner. Maybe, since it's cloudy, gray and snow is still on the ground this morning, I might blend into the background and no one will spot me.

Fortunately, I'll was running while most of the youths in our community were holed up in a what I can only hope was a windowless classroom as to not be witness to this Clydesdale, galloping down the street, and striking fear into their innocent hearts.